The Journey So Far

A chronological stroll thru the history of Broadway Musicals as they came to be recorded by Hollywood--the summation of a lifelong vocation, and a journey of self discovery. Equal parts cultural history, critique and personal memoir. Comingnext: Jersey Boys

Monday, December 2, 2013

'60s Also Rans

It was a two-year Bway hit, winner of the top Tony Award,
and only the third musical (after Of Thee
I Sing and South Pacific) to get a
Pulitzer Prize, but Fiorello! never made it to the screen; even arriving at the
very peak of Bway's Golden Age, and Hlwd's appetite
for stage hits. The most facile explanation is its parochial subject: a New York City mayor, even
one as colorful and beloved as LaGuardia, was considered primarily of local interest.
Of course it shouldn't matter how familiar a subject is to audiences but
whether the story engages them on its own merits. On this front, Jerome Weidman
& George Abbott's libretto has a number of failings. Aside from the usual
fast-and-loose musical comedy relationship to dates and facts, its ending--on
the heels of a failed mayoral campaign, and a rebound marriage proposal--seems
defeatist unless the audience carries with them the knowledge of what lies
ahead; the musical ends before LaGuardia's real fame or achievements. The '62 London production added
an onstage narrator to explain who the characters were and their historical
context. It closed in seven weeks. The show used a film montage to move the
story forward thru WWI, which would suggest that a movie could easily remedy
any narrative lapses in just a few extra moments of screen time. Too bad Jack
Warner didn't add this to his great Bway buying spree. Given the success and polish
of The Music Man, writer Marion
Hargrove and director Morton DaCosta might have been well suited for the
occasion. Tho acclaimed and with a well-noted resemblance to the real
LaGuardia. Tom Bosley might've been a hard sell for carrying a whole movie. But
this could've filled the bill for Bobby Darin, who was moving into dramatic
parts and had a similar Italian/Jewish look and underdog personality. Shirley
Jones was tailor-made for Thea, and another Jones, Carolyn, would do well for
the long-suffering Marie. And who couldn't see Jackie Gleason putting his spin
on "Little Tin Box," or "The Bum Won," as Ben Marino?
Newcomer Michele Lee would've had a field day with ("I Love a Cop")
Dora; Jack Klugman a solid Morris (the office slave) and bring on that Mitzi
Gaynor for her cameo on "Gentleman Jim," to Onna White's
choreography. It would've fit perfectly in Warner's schedule, released in late
'63, the year between Gypsy and My Fair Lady--possibly nabbing a third
Best Picture nom for a Bway musical following West Side Story and The Music
Man. If only. . .

For what the show has, aside from a colorful political and
romantic story, is a truly special score. Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick
proved in their sophmore effort they were deserving heirs to the R&H
mantle. One thing Rodgers never did, however, was mine his Jewish
heritage--there's no hora, no klezmer in his canon. Bock & Harnick would
draw from this rich well a good deal further in their career, but there's a
real precursor here to Fiddler in the
hora portion of "The Name's LaGuardia." Elsewhere, in the
character-imbued score the nostalgic waltz, "Till Tomorrow" recalls
the best of Irving Berlin, yet transcends pastiche to stand on its own as a
really great song. "Politics and Poker," is a thumping hesitation
waltz with a timeless cynicism; "When Did I Fall in Love," an all too
neglected ballad. Once regarded among the best Bway musicals of the Golden Age,
Fiorello! demonstrates the necessity and importance of a
film version to perpetuate a musical's reputation. Is there any question Fiorello! would be better known and more
often revived today if there had been a movie?

Do Re Migot better reviews than all the
fall musicals of 1960: Irma La Douce,
Tenderloin, The Unsinkable Molly
Brown, Wildcat and Camelot. It
was a fast, loud, splashy show with a grand Styne, Comden & Green score,
and one bonafide hit tune, "Make Someone Happy." It concerned the
jukebox trade, and had in Phil Silvers & Nancy Walker a comic lead couple,
with a secondary, younger duo for romantic interest and vocal prowess (John
Reardon and Nancy Dussault). It was Styne's first show after Gypsy, and its influence is surely felt;
pure musical comedy doesn't get anymore evolved than this; the show opens on an
extended drumbeat while Walker
laments her husband's chronic alibis as a nightclub show blares in the background.
And ends in a naked moment of lost hope:
an extended confessional for Silvers' loser--so astounding for a musical
comedy; and under the clear influence of "Rose's Turn." The show was
funny and tuneful, and would have made an easy film transfer for someone like
George Sidney or George Roy Hill. Paramount
could've picked it up for Jackie Gleason, who was then riding a brief, leading-man
screen career following his Oscar-nominated performance in The Hustler. The part is half Ralph Kramden already. And how about
a curveball for his wife, someone like Gloria Grahame? Can't you hear that
distinctive voice on "Take a Job," or "Adventure"? (which
are, incidentally, sung conversations that flow like songs--not the bad
recitative that would overtake musicals in the decades to come) For the backwoods-waitress-turned-jukebox-singer,
why not Ann-Margret for one last musical before she devolved into endless
sex-kitten roles. She was the '60s update of Debbie Reynolds; arriving on the
scene as the movie musical--and especially lightweight programmers like ones
that Reynolds cut her teeth on--were growing scarcer each year. George Sidney
made two with A-M, and adored her. Too bad they didn't go for a third. She'd
have been delightful crooning, "Cry Like the Wind," belting
"Fireworks" opposite Pat Boone again, or George Hamilton (someone
slick & handsome) and camping it up in "What's New at the Zoo."
It should've been fast, snappy and proleterian. The more I imagine it, the more
I lament the lack of its existence. We've already seen those ads with Bogart, Monroe and other long
dead figures re-animated, mingling with today's crowd. You know the day is
coming we can all make our own films, stealing whatever images from the
collective universe, putting words and music into familiar old voices--like so many
CGI pixels. Perhaps someone, somewhere will one day make a Do Re Mi "movie" with that long-gone cast.

On the strength of Jule Styne's score, Frank Sinatra made
a bid on Subways are for Sleeping before the show even got to Bway.
Nevermind that Comden & Green's story concerned the willfully homeless--a
class of drifters that quickly lost charm with the surge of those for whom this
"lifestyle" was no choice--and the public who had to notice them. At
any rate, the musical, which now is remembered only for the peerless publicity
stunt pulled by David Merrick (running a quote ad of raves from men with the
same names as the major paper critics.) had, in fact, much to recommend it,
especially in Styne's melodic felicity. The OCR defines the Bway sound of 1962,
in Philip J. Lang's lush and brassy orchestrations, making the overture one of
Bway's greatest, if least known. It wasn't that bad a show, really. It had
laughs, great ballads, and swing numbers, and a Michael Kidd ballet of sidewalk
Santas. But most of all it was another real New York musical--the kind Styne, Comden
& Green were justly famous for. No question Sinatra would've been an
improvement over Bway's Sydney Chaplin--especially on his ballads. And Dean
Martin would've been perfect for Orson Bean's comic role. wooing the towel-clad,
former pagaent queen, hotel-evictee, Martha Vale (Phyllis Newman on Bway, Angie
Dickinson in Hlwd?) And in Carol Lawrence's reporter role: Janet Leigh. A bit
of trim in script and score, as one song goes: Who Knows What Might Have Been?

MGM owned Carnival!--based on their own '53
film, Lili, starring Leslie Caron.
This was the first movie musical ever adapted into a Bway original. And it was original, taking only the story and
not even daring to bring along it's well-known song, "Hi-Lili-Hi-Lo."
Michael Stewart fleshed out the book--based on a Paul Gallico story--and Bob
Merrill provided a wholly new, and untypically large score. Stewart and
director Gower Champion were fresh off Birdie,
full of creative piss & vinegar, and the production wowed the cognoscenti.
The young, opera-trained soprano, Anna Maria Alberghetti had the role of her
lifetime, and Jerry Orbach, as a bitter, crippled, puppet-master had the first
of his long line of musical comedy leads, post-The Fantasticks. Longtime de Mille dancer, James Mitchell in the
most prominent supporting role he would ever have, was magician Marco the
Magnificent. And in a considerable shift in tone, his assistant, played by Zsa
Zsa Gabor in Lili, turned into comic
belter, Kaye Ballard, on Bway--sadly, her only hit show. By the mid-'60s, with
Louis B. long gone, MGM management was far less inclined toward musicals; still
investment was made in developing Carnival
for the screen, with Gower Champion to direct. Julius J. Epstein turned in a
final script in February '63; and sometime around then, before Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady reawakened the box office for musicals, the studio
shelved the movie. The show is a curious paradox; ostensibly a
"family" show about a threadbare circus, in actuality it deals with
darker adult themes, which is why I was less enchanted with it as a child,
seeing it at our local theater-in-the-round with Anna Maria, no less.
Those who love the musical--and there are many reasons to love it--must dismiss
Lili's near-psychotic disassociation between puppets & puppeteer. Taking
that into account, rumors of casting Yvette Mimieux makes some sense. Does
anyone remember her now? She had recently played another simpleton in MGM's Light in the Piazza, giving retardation
a beautiful face. Nor did she exhibit particular intelligence in The Time Machine. And given the
strenuous soprano requirements of the role, most likely she would've been
dubbed. But I don't know who would've been right for Lili, or any of the other
roles for that matter. It doesn't bother me no film version of Carnival was made. Champion's theatrical
staging would've been lost in translation, and the result would look like just
another circus musical.

Certainly Milk & Honey had more cinematic
potential, but an Israeli travelogue was still deemed too niche by Hlwd
bean-counters. It didn't help that its protagonists, including the main lovers
are well beyond youth. But there was an amusing premise in Jewish-American
widows touring the Holy Land trolling for Israeli
husbands. Yiddish theater icon, Molly Picon was in charge of corralling this
brood, succeeded, intriguingly by Hermione Gingold. But Hlwd would likely opt
for someone like Rosalind Russell, tho here again I could see Judy Holliday.
The show's mature lovers (Met Opera stars Robert Weede & Mimi Benzell on
stage) might've worked with Rossano Brazzi & Anne Bancroft (vocals dubbed,
of course), on film, or, wacky as it first sounds, perhaps Elizabeth
Taylor--she and Brazzi would be smouldering together. Tommy Rall, who had a
promising screen career back in the early '50s--when musicals were still
aplenty--had given up Hlwd for Bway, and this was his highest profile stage
role. As Weede's son-in-law, a patriotic farmer, Rall would've been a welcome
face back on screen. Jerry Herman's first Bway score has some plesant tunes,
including a lovely waltz, "Shalom," that serves various functions and
has a thematic continuity. But it's not a major work, nor a movie that begs for
Roadshow proportions, tho a few Holy Land
helicopter shots would be expected. Bway audiences, and especially the core
female patrons for this Yiddishe romance, were disappointed by an ending that dashed
the lovers' hopes of any future together--a choice playwright Don Appell made
in the guise of realism and drama. And this is a musical comedy--which shows
how far the R&H revolution brought seriousness to what was once a frivolous
form. But I've no doubt Hlwd would've remedied this, leaving the stars in a
clinch. Or a Jewish wedding.

Speaking of which, it doesn't get any more Jewish than I Can
Get It For You Wholesale;which may be partly why it didn't get
much interest from Hlwd. It's remembered now, if at all, as the show that
brought Barbra to Bway--albeit in a subordinate role; yet winning the show's
only Tony nomination--an egregious oversight. Jerome Weidman's 1937 novel had already
been adapted (very loosely) into a 1951 Susan Hayward film--as a would-be Dressmaker's
All About Eve; a film virtually
forgetten today. For his 1962 musical, David Merrick hired Weidman to adapt his
own book, and Arthur Laurents (whose stock was sky high thanks to his librettos
for West Side Story and Gypsy) to. . . direct. Merrick
had a sick sense of humor. To no surprise, the two writers clashed, and Laurents,
who in this case had the better perspective, was bound by the Dramatists Guild
to keep Weidman's unfocussed vision. (Laurents' ego would grow to his own
detriment with his subsequent books for Anyone
Can Whistle, Do I Hear a Waltz? and Hallelujah,
Baby?--all of which owed their failures primarily to him.) The score was by
Merrick's first hit-maker, Harold Rome, a
loyalty earned since Fanny. Tho not to
my knowledge recognized as such, I find Wholesale
the best score Rome
ever wrote. A low bar of measure, perhaps--but a high achievment for this
usually bland tunesmith (to wit: Destry
Rides Again, Wish You Were Here; even Fanny
leaves me cold.) But Rome
is inspired here, capturing the feel of this world, brilliantly. But least we
forget, Rome
began his career supplying songs to an amateur revue for the International
Ladies Garment Workers Union: Pins &
Needles--that ran for an unheard-of three years during the Depression. Wholesale ran nine months. It wasn't a
hit, but not quite a flop either. What it was,
and what no one recognized at the time, was a musical noir. It starts with "He's Not a Well Man," and ends with
everyone cowering from above, wailing "What Are They Doing to Us Now?" In between we chart the rise and
fall of a ruthless, unlovable hero in the cutthroat world of the garment trade.
This was one dark show. But no one had really taken the musical for a spin in
this model before, and most weren't ready for a song & dance noir. (Nor
were they 40 years later with Sweet Smell
of Success--an equally uncompromising noir; based on the highly lauded, if
narrowly seen movie. Isn't noir by its
nature a niche taste?) Wholesale is
an ensemble piece with nine principal characters tangled in a web of greed,
desperation and betrayal on Eighth
Avenue. Set in the '30s, it felt and sounded like Bway's '60s; brassy, sharp
and modern, with absolutely chilling Sid Ramin (Gypsy) orchestrations. Yes, it's not a perfect score; songs for
Marilyn Cooper's Ruthie (the good-girl fiancee) are beyond weak--you can hear
why Eydie Gorme turned the part down. But most of the ensemble numbers are
terrific. "Ballad of the Garment Trade," is a rare sunny moment, and
a march at that; "The Sound of Money," a jazzy bolero; "A Gift
Today," a celebration waltz; and most rousing of all: the meet & greet
hora, "The Family Way," a song that builds into a frenzy which never
fails to thrill. All of which pre-date similar Yiddish beats in Fiddler. Barbra's celebrated solo spot,
"Miss Marmelstein," earns marks for material as much as performance--it's
a genuinely funny lyric, and not a bad melody either. But the score is so character or plot
specific, not a single song had much chance for crossover pop appeal. Of course
no studio would look at this show with an eye toward blockbuster returns. But
as an artistic experiment, more a labor of love under a limited budget, perhaps
with someone creative like Sidney Lumet, filming on location, in widescreen
B&W. It could've been quite interesting. Listen to the "overture"
on the OCR and tell me you don't see the opening of a movie.

How Ray Stark nabbed the film rights to No
Strings is unclear; but it wasn't in the interest of extending
African-American goodwill. Not by taking its message of color-blind romance
literally, as license to change races entirely. Of all things, Stark intended the
movie as a vehicle for Nancy Kwan. OK, it's not hard to imagine. She was a
looker, tall and leggy--a most convincing model, and as much of an exotic swan
in Paris as was
an American Negress. But Kwan doesn't sing (she would be dubbed), and why not Diahann Carroll?--who sang beautifully
and made a triumph for herself on Bway. She'd already been in films (having featured
moments in both Carmen Jones and Porgy & Bess) and looked even better
now that she was older and settled into her natural beauty. It was an easily
cinematic story, part Funny Face,
part Bonjour Tristesse--flirting with
the rich on the Riviera, shooting fashion in Paris. The guy, of
course, had Sinatra written all over him. The score was by Richard
Rodgers--words and music--and even had a hit tune, "The Sweetest
Sounds," so there was plenty to wrap Frank's voice around; and the role of
a blocked writer bumming around Europe on
other people's money was hardly a stretch. Maybe they'd be wise enuf to cast
Mitzi Gaynor as the brassy American heiress, Comfort O'Connell, and Yves
Montand for Diahann's French suitor. Stanley Donen could've made an intimate
adult film musical, closer to Umbrellas
of Cherbourg than Unsinkable Molly
Brown. It's surprising that Rodgers would let this one get away. His works
couldn't have been more in demand with the success of The Sound of Music, so how did No
Strings become a no go?

Rodgers' only other new musical of the '60s, the
Sondheim/Laurents collaboration, Do I Hear a Waltz? had real
cinematic possibilities as well, but only with major revisions and proper
casting. Rodgers came to the project thru the lens of David Lean's romantic
film Summertime, which was a softened
version of Arthur Laurents' play, Time of
the Cuckoo. But Laurents wasn't a fan of Lean's version, and took the
proprietary stance of insisting on his own sour vision. Unfortunately his spinster
heroine, Leona, has an unnecessary, self-induced emotional breakdown, then egregiously
blames everyone but herself. Walter Kerr called the show "an entirely
serious and very dry musical about an American tourist who goes to Venice and doesn't have
any fun." The same went for the audience, who naturally wanted a Venetian holiday
with a Rodgers score; not a playwright's psychodrama for a character Sondheim famously
said couldn't sing. (An early concept that went by the wayside was to have her not sing a single song until the very
end.) Played first on stage by Shirley Booth, then Katharine Hepburn in Lean's
film--for which both earned honors--the musical was so perfectly suited, if not
tailored for Mary Martin (to make a triptych of Rodgers' musicals) but instead
went, inexplicably to a young-ish not-quite-Star-ish, Elizabeth Allen.
Nonetheless, Rodgers' melodic genius is as glorious as ever (the title song
ranks with the best of Rodgers' famous waltzes); and Sondheim's lyrics, when
they aren't trying too hard to be dyspeptic, aren't bad either. It's a lovely
score, romantic and varied, and more interesting than No Strings. If properly cast, modestly scaled, and shot on location
(as was Lean's film) this might've made a persuasive film musical.

It's hard to figure why She Loves Me never quite
gets its due. A critic's favorite, it was adored as well by the Bway
cognoscenti, but couldn't draw the public at large, struggling to eke out 300
performances, sputtering to a close just days before Hello, Dolly! became a sensation. Much like Follies, there's never been a production that's made money. Based
on a play by Miklos Laszlo, but better known as a classic MGM romance, The Shop Around the Corner, with Jimmy
Stewart & Margaret Sullavan. It was remade barely 8 years later as a movie musical,
with Judy Garland & Van Johnson. Dropping the Mittleuropa milieu, In the Good Old Summertime aimed for a
turn-of-the- century slice of Americana.
She Loves Me returned the well-tread
story to its Hungarian roots, which may have scared some off, mistaking it for operetta.
It was in any case "special" material, precious and arty with an unusually
full and complex score by Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick, the most fully
realized team in the wake of the R&H school of musical theater. Harold
Prince, who produced & directed the show thought it would have run for
years had Julie Andrews starred in it instead of Barbara Cook (& Daniel Massey). Which was not to blame Cook, who was highly praised. But despite being Bway
royalty, Cook, (like Chita Rivera) wasn't really a box office draw. Andrews was
a gold rush at the wickets. So how did MGM miss the opportunity to follow up The Sound of Music, with She Loves Me?--the pic Julie should've done
instead of Torn Curtain. And why not
Dick Van Dyke as her vis-a-vis; a team the public seemed to hunger for; and a
singing role not beyond his style or ken. MGM planned such a project at one
point with Gower Champion to direct. But, as we know, it never happened. The story
gimmick (boy & girl hate each other, unaware they are lovers thru private
correspondance) is periodically revived. In the '90s Nora Ephron updated it for
the computer generation: You've Got Mail.
And I've no doubt there'll be a future remake playing on newer technology. Tho
set in the past, She Loves Me in 1963
was in construction and form a very modern musical. Now it seems an antique
jewel box of a show. Precious and lovely. But with no movie to jog memories, the
show doesn't get the recognition it deserves.

I never realized it before, but 110 in the Shadeis virtually a hybrid of Oklahoma! and The Music Man--you can see why David Merrick saw hit potential. A
heroine torn between men, and verging on spinsterhood; a stranger selling salvation
for profit, only to profit from love; the shaking up of a sleepy Midwestern hamlet.
The elements were all there, and song-writers Tom Jones & Harvey Schmidt
(making their Bway debut) wrote countless numbers to find the precise one for
each moment of the show. But N. Richard Nash's libretto (from his play The Rainmaker) was more William Inge
than Meredith Willson, and valid as the show is on its own merits, it has a hardscrabble
regional quality that'll never have mass appeal. My beloved childhood next-door
neighbor, Gloria Milano came to SoCal from Brooklyn,
which meant a few tales of Bway nights to my eager ears; the magic moment that
was South Pacific; the event that was
My Fair Lady. But she simply hated 110 in the Shade, to the point of
leaving at intermission. I can't say I'd mustered much affection for the album
myself in my youth. But then one day, deep into maturity, I heard the score as
if for the first time and found it breathtaking. Truth to tell, this was not
the OCR, but a new recording of the NYC Opera with Ron Raines & Karen
Ziemba; the complete score, with all the underscoring, lusciously played by a symphony
orchestra, and beautifully sung. It was a revelation. Tho she won raves from NY
critics, I'd never warmed to Inga Swenson on the OCR, and always wondered why Merrick cast TV Western star, Robert Horton (after firing
Hal Holbrook) instead of a real singing confidence man, a John Raitt or a
Richard Kiley. Inga Swenson was one of the forgotten New Faces of '56, who parlayed this career high into only one other
musical (coming up) and not a memorable one at that. But I've always found her
cold. Had Hlwd been interested in a screen version, the role would've been
catnip to many. Shirley Jones for one, who was moving past ingenue roles and
just the right age for Lizzie. No less a coveted part is Starbuck, the
self-professed- Rainmaker--a sort of cowboy Harold Hill. But the story's
drought is metaphorical as well as meteorological, which makes for a cinematic
challenge. Joseph Anthony directed the original play, the Hepburn-Lancaster
movie, and the musical. It would've been interesting to see another view of the
material from someone else.

Golden Boy ran 568 performances on Bway but came short of paying
off. Still it's hard to castigate the show a failure. It took a dated Cliff
Odets play and gave it new life as a reflection of the contemporary (mid-'60s)
racial discussion. Odets himself began the adaptation but died soon after.
After much scrambling, Odets' colleague, William Gibson (author of Two for the Seesaw & The Miracle Worker) finished the
libretto. That the score was tailored entirely to showcase the vocal prowess of
Sammy Davis Jr., while staying firmly within the character of reluctant boxer,
Joe Wellington (amusingly renamed from the original Joe Napolean) is testament to
the talent of Charles Strouse & Lee Adams. Here's another score I came to
appreciate much later, even tho Strouse & Adams were early favorites of
mine. Boxing, however, has never had much appeal to me and therein likely the
source of my antipathy. But the fights in this musical are beyond the ring. Joe
fights for everything: for manhood, success, social position, money, love.
Giving Sammy a love interest as close as possible to albino (Paula Wayne) may
have seemed a bit too blatant, but wasn't Davis
at that time married to the similarly blinding-white May Britt?

Of greater
question is how the jockey-sized star conveyed a believable pugilist. In the
featherweight division? This may be in part why a film version never
materialized. Of course another actor could be cast, but the show is so
stitched in Sammy's skin, it's hard to imagine. Not that someone else couldn't
play the role, it just beggars the question: what would be the point? But if
nothing else it's not hard to visualize what a great number "Don't Forget 127th St.,"
could be on screen.

Producer Alexander H. Cohen had serious David Merrick envy.
Primarily a trafficker in specialty shows (Nichols & May, Beyond the Fringe, Marlene Dietrich) Cohen
had some modest success with a few British imports, but no luck with musicals.
Tho much promoted, his PT Barnum musical never materialized to complement the
'64 World's Fair. His equally touted Sherlock Holmes tuner, shamelessly and
excessively promoted, made it to Bway in Feb '65, but attracted middling
interest. It didn't help that it starred an unexciting and unknown (if
appropriate) Fritz Weaver, with Inga Swenson for some forced romantic interest.
Directed by Harold Prince, after Joshua Logan ankled, Baker Street, as with most Cohen
musicals, was over-produced, on top of weak material. It needed a score by
Lerner & Loewe. What it got was an unknown Canadian team, one step above
amateurs. Even with four songs written by Bock & Harnick (brought in by a
desperate Prince), this was one of the dullest of all '60s scores; which pretty
much killed any future for the show. Cohen had been waving the rights to MGM
before the Bway opening, but interest quickly lagged when the show didn't catch
on.

Bway suffered such a crisis of confidence in the final
third of the decade, that hits were few and film deals fewer. True, the culture
was changing so quickly, the flood of youth radicalizing all the Arts so
dizzying, but shoving aside, or disdaining all the hard-won evolutionary
battles the Bway musical had achieved, as Clive Barnes (and others, too, but
his heavy hand hurt the most) took measure by a false standard, unfairly
sending the musical packing down the road to irrelevance, or more precisely to its
shrinking niche in American cultural life. What once was broadly encompassing, was now the
domain of your parents, Morman families and old queens. The Big Street was spooked. Professionals
were second-guessing themselves, babies were thrown out with the bathwater.
There's no good reason why Darling of the
Day couldn't be slapped into a gem as lightfooted as Hello Dolly!--only it wasn't. The
Happy Time had all it needed to be a hit--if Gower Champion hadn't
smothered it with his staging. (He still won 2 Tony Awards for it!); Sherry!, Henry Sweet Henry, Golden Rainbow, Zorba,
Dear World; Coco--great potential every
one; sunk thru uncertain direction, whether consciously or not, victims of the
zeitgeist. Which as far as Bway was concerned could be wrapped up in one word: Hair.

If I had any doubts that Promises, Promises could
ever live up to what was my favorite non-musical film, The Apartment, they were forever washed away when I saw the show on
Bway in July 1970. I
had enjoyed, if not thoroughly relished, the OCR since its
release. But I hadn't heard Neil Simon's clever re-working of Billy Wilder's
film, seen Jerry Orbach in action, nor been privvy to Michael Bennett's musical
staging or the emotional heft of the collective enterprise. It just might have
been the most heartening show of all in that first jam-packed visit to Bway. No
less surprising, many years later, was the initial offering from LA's Reprise
company (a wannabe Encores! with Hlwd-adjacent talent) in 1997. Jason Alexander
was a different, if equally valid, leading man--and sang especially well. It
was a nicely calibrated production that captured the '60s far better than the
busy handiwork of Rob Ashford's 2010 Bway revival, horribly miscast with Sean
Hayes, and even more so, Kristin Chenoweth. Film musicals were curdling at the
studios during the '70s, which is the only explanation why Promises never made it to the screen. Otherwise it would've been
made around 1973, proabably directed by one of the newer turks, (Mike Nichols,
Bob Fosse, Richard Lester) and starred either some fresh rising stars (Raul
Julia, Blythe Danner) or cresting talent: Alan Alda, Barbara Harris. Given the
stength of the story, and the just hip-enuf Burt Bacharach/ Hal David score, I
think chances were good it would've been a hit.

Some musicals were actually better suited for television.
Even in the ancient B&W TV days, such shows as Peter Pan, WonderfulTownand Once Upon a Mattress were given lively, defining
broadcast productions, that reached far larger audiences than even the biggest
hit films. Peter Panis legend
for capturing the theatrical charms of what was in reality a poorly attended
five-month Bway run. Adults didn’t take children to musicals then the way they
do now on the Disneyfied Bway. Peter Pan took
hold of us children in a way few things on TV did in those days. It was first telecast live on March 7, 1955 a
week after closing on Bway. The
reception was so great it was re-mounted live again, on January 6, 1956, but
then disputably lost on some kinescope. Finally, for posterity it was re-done
again, tho not live, and broadcast in color (but who had color then?) on
December 8, 1960, two days before my eighth birthday. I mention this because I’m certain that was my first
encounter with the show, with Mary Martin and with the flamboyantly fey Cyril
Ritchard. It wasn’t quite the annual
staple that Wizard of Oz was
becoming—we had to wait a few years to see it again (in 1963). I remember my
excitement as the re-broadcast neared for I was older now, wiser in my
knowledge of musicals and thrilled to see all the mechanics up close. But Peter Pan, like Alice in Wonderland, and Oz,
is forever re-invented, and Jerome Robbins' production shall remain in the Pan
museum; happily accessible to all who'd like to view it today.

Given that she was Queen at CBS, why didn't Lucille Ball
just wrap up her aborted Bway run in Wildcat (which despite poor reviews
was doing quite well when she was in it) and sell it to CBS for a surefire
ratings success. It wasn't much of a story, but its Cy Coleman/ Carolyn Leigh score had some dynamic tunes,
including a popular hit, "Hey, Look Me Over." And Michael Kidd staged
some nifty dances. Lucy was used to working new material on a weekly basis.
Eight shows a week for months on end was a trial. Still, as a businesswoman,
Ball failed to bail Desilu out of its Bway investment. Was she that sick of the role? Similarly, I'm
surprised Irving Berlin didn't sell NBC on broadcasting Mr. President live upon
closing on Bway in June '63. Doesn't it seem like something you'd see pop up on
a Saturday night on NBC in early summer? Neither of those are great losses but,
alas, an enormous opportunity was lost in not giving Little Methe TV spectacular
treatment. It was, after all, Neil Simon’s first musical script, done in the
style of the classic '50s live-TV sketches, starring his former employer, Sid
Caesar. And the Cy Coleman/Carolyn Leigh score was easily digestible. The tale
of the brainless but buxom Belle Poitrine was just a series of skits to begin
with, and a TV production (circa 1964), with Edie Adams co-starring with Caesar,
could have been stellar.

In a similar vein, had Carol Burnett not had her falling
out with Comden & Green, Fade Out Fade In could have made a
nice triptych with her Mattress and Calamity Jane specials and a virtual pilot
for her future CBS series. Comden & Green were no strangers to Hlwd spoofs,
and Fade Out wasn’t vintage material,
but funny nonetheless and suited perfectly to the talents of Burnett--and a
sellout hit even during that summer of the World's Fair. Her later Hlwd spoof
sketches, many with original songs, on her weekly variety series could be
traced directly to this show which (for messy contractual issues) she later
wished to forget. One argument against Burnett in Comden & Green's favor, is
the astonishing fact that a mere 8 nights after the Bway opening, Carol
appeared on CBS in a 90-minute broadcast of Once Upon a Mattress. The
show was taped in b&w before an audience, and broadcast, if not necessarily
recorded on, June 3, 1964--but surely made sometime around then. One could
argue that Burnett's TV appearance would boost box office for the new show, but
when did she have time to rehearse for TV, while fine-tuning an enormous production
for Bway? Even more absurdly, Burnett, (who was mother to a newborn as well)
maintained her televisual presence come September, co-starring in a weekly CBS
Variety show, called The Entertainers
with Caterina Valente and Bob Newhart--an assignment she continued to do even
as a taxi accident felled her from the stage show, and led to an abrupt closing
of Fade Out for several months while
she healed and the show could Fade In,
again--only to have lost all momentum and quickly fold. By contrast, Mattress was a happy occasion, slimmed
down for broadcast and giving the nation another taste of Burnett, who was well
on the rise to the Pantheon of TV stars, a choice over Bway she was happy to
make. But if Fade Out Fade In was to
be erased, Once Upon a Mattress would
forever be acknowledged. The score, by Richard's daughter, Mary Rodgers (who
apparently learned her lessons well) gave Carol comic numbers and some real
belt in "Happily Ever After," and especially the anything-but, "Shy."
For expedience sake, (and why not?) Jack Gilford, Jane White and Joseph Bova
repeated their roles from Bway, with Shani Wallis & Elliot Gould joining in
other roles. Burnett was so in love with the show, she filmed it again for TV
in 1972, this time in color, with Gilford & White again in tow; this time
with Ken Berry and Bernadette Peters in addition. By the time of the third TV
remake in 2005, Burnett had graduated to playing evil Queen Agravain, leaving
the Princess Winifred to Tracey Ullman. The show, whose origins come from a
summer camp spoof in the Poconos, requires no elaborate scenery nor production,
which suited the TV medium better than most.

A few other '60s musicals were
adapted for TV: It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Superman, I Do! I Do!, George M!, Dames
at Sea--each of them certainly suited for television; but each of them
unsatisfying in their own way.

Another well suited for the tube was The Roar of the Greasepaint-The
Smell of the Crowdaround about 1966.
Inconceivable as a film property the show was a staggering list of hit
and hit-sounding songs by Anthony Newley & Leslie Bricusse (One of the very
best scores of the 1960s, in my estimation), built on the age-old struggle--or
Samuel Beckett parody, you decide--between haves and have-nots. The show was a sequence
of fabulous songs ("A Wonderful Day Like Today," "Feeling Good," "The Joker," "Look at That Face," "Nothing
Can Stop Me Now," and among the best ballads of the decade: "Who Can
I Turn To?") but little more--except a chorus of female urchins. Whether
Newley & Ritchard were recruited or another TVQ duo, say Sinatra &
Gleason (the mind reels!) it would have made a memorable songfest. And a great
album. The OCR is among the most listenable discs Bway produced in the era of
psychadelic rock. Even my hippie Japanese/French high school bud, Jessica, loved
it. Newley's performance of "Who Can I Turn To," easily found online,
is truly riveting, and incredibly sexy.

By nature of its vignette structure, The Apple Tree was an
unlikely screen candidate that would've made sense on TV as well. It was only
the second and final Barbara Harris musical on Bway, but between two shows she
played 6 different characters, which makes her legacy seem fuller. As she has
possibly my favorite Bway voice of all, and I am riveted each and every time I
see her on screen or hear her on record, I should think it would be criminal to
replace her with anyone else. But then given that I'd have no say in the
matter, I could see where CBS might produce the show as another vehicle for
Carol Burnett (whom I also adore) and could pull it off. Or they might make it
a real All-Star Special; a different cast for each act. Burnett would excel
best in The Lady & the Tiger, maybe
opposite Steve Lawrence; and how about Lee Remick & Anthony Perkins for The Diary of Adam & Eve? And who
better than Barbara Harris for her priceless chimney sweep, Ella and her
alter-ego, Passionella? With original
Flip, Alan Alda. Which now that I've cast it, annoys the hell out of me for not
actually existing. The Bock & Harnick score has always been a favorite of
mine; the OCR impeccably sung, pristinely recorded and exceptionally
orchestrated. And oh, that Harris girl! Her shadow looms up ahead...

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About this Blog

At the intersection of Broadway and Hollywood,

the Musical has been my lifelong touchstone. How did this happen? What does it mean? Herewith an analysis of my own"glass menagerie;" a Proustian trail of memory and perhaps a final summation of my thoughts and feelings on this unrelenting vocation.

About Me

A man on the verge of a musical breakdown. Why did I do it? What did it get me? Scrapbooks full of me in the background: New York, Hollywood, San Francisco. Palm Springs. This time, boys, I'm takin' the bows.